


Fever Brain

by eyebrowsatlarge



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Cute, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyebrowsatlarge/pseuds/eyebrowsatlarge
Summary: Mr. Graves has a cold, but he refuses to leave Credence hanging. Going out with a fever may not have been his best choice. Written as a Tumblr prompt fill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! This can also be read on my Tumblr here.

Credence was starting to get nervous. Mr. Graves had promised to meet up with him at two o’clock sharp, and it was already two-fifteen. It was unlike Mr. Graves to be late. By two-thirty, Credence had begun to think the worst. He didn’t know what he’d do if something had happened to Mr. Graves. He’d started to pace back and forth in front of the alley they often met in, trying to decide how long he should wait before he just went home, when Mr. Graves appeared.

Credence rushed over to the older man, frowning at the sight of him. Mr. Graves was rumpled and sweaty and his nose was contrasted bright red against his ghostly skin.

“Mr. Graves, you look terrible,” he said softly, brushing hair away from Graves’s forehead. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I’m fine. It’s just seasonal allergies, I assure you.”

Credence wasn’t convinced. He’d felt how badly Mr. Graves was burning up when his fingers had brushed the man’s forehead.

“You don’t look fine.”

Graves waved a dismissive hand, teetering slightly on his feet. He looked as though a strong wind might blow him over.

“It’s nothing. I just-“ He cut off looking like he might pass out. Credence reached out, putting a hand on Mr. Graves’s chest to steady him.

“I should make sure you get home safely.”

Mr. Graves frowned at that. “I don’t want to go home. I want to stay with you.”

Credence smiled slightly. “Come on, Mr. Graves. Let’s get you to bed, hmm?”

“Alright,” Graves responded, gripping Credence’s arm firmly. Credence suddenly felt as though he was being forced through a tube, and then they were in what he assumed was Mr. Graves’s apartment. Huh. So that was how Mr. Graves always just appeared places. Credence felt a little queasy, but Mr. Graves went slack against him, causing Credence to push down the vomit he felt rising in his throat and turn his attention to the man leaning against him.

Credence managed to half drag Mr. Graves to the sofa and get him laid out on it without too much struggling. Mr. Graves was heavy, but Credence was stronger than he looked. He felt Mr. Graves’s forehead with the back of his hand and winced. He was burning up.

“What am I going to do with you, Mr. Graves?” he muttered as he went to search for the linen closet. He didn’t know much about caring for sick people, but he did know that a cool washcloth would help the fever. Perhaps he’d make some chicken soup as well for when Mr. Graves woke up.

He found the linens and pulled out a dark grey washcloth, running it under the tap to wet it and then returning to Mr. Graves to put it over the fevered man’s forehead. Now on to the soup.

About half an hour later, the soup was ready and Mr. Graves had started to stir. Credence rushed to his side, kneeling beside the sofa and taking one of Graves’s clammy hands in his.

“Credence? What are we doing here?”

Credence gave Graves a sheepish smile.

“You brought us here and then promptly collapsed, Mr. Graves. I’ve been tending to you.” He reached a hand up and touched Graves’s cheek. “I think your fever has broken. You don’t feel quite so warm.”

Graves smiled fondly and gave Credence’s hand a weak squeeze.

“I think you can call me Percival, Credence. We’ve moved a bit past formality.” His smile widened. “Is that chicken soup I smell?”

Credence nodded. “I tried to think of what to make for a sick person. Chicken soup came to mind.”

“Perfect,” Percival responded, nodding reassuringly. He tried to sit up, but grimaced and fell back down on the couch with a groan. “The throbbing in my head hasn’t subsided, it seems.”

“Oh, that’s alright, Mr- Percival. Here, I’ll get you a pillow. Where’s your bedroom?”

Percival gestured to the hallway that Credence had found the linen cupboard in. “First door on the left.”

Credence went where he was told and retrieved a pillow, using it to prop Percival up on the sofa.

“Would you like some soup?” Percival nodded, so Credence went and got him a bowl, placing it gingerly in his hands. “Now why in the world did you come see me in this state? You should have been resting.” Credence wasn’t usually so bold, but he thought it was within his rights at this point to scold Percival for his foolishness.

“I didn’t want you to think- I needed you to know I wasn’t standing you up.”

Credence’s chest hurt at the thought of Percival being so concerned with what _he_ thought.

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have seen me when you felt better. The worst I’d think is that you finally realized you didn’t need to bother with me anymore.”

Percival frowned.

“You think I visit with you because of some ridiculous sense of obligation?”

Credence looked down, refusing to meet Percival’s eyes. Truth be told, he didn’t know why Percival would continue to see him. Percival reached out and tilted Credence’s chin up.

“I keep coming to see you because I _like_ you, Credence. I like talking to you. There’s something about you…” He trailed off, fixing Credence with an affectionate look. “I like you.” Credence blushed dark red.

“You shouldn’t say such things, Mr. Graves. I might start to believe them.”

Percival’s brown eyes burned into Credence’s, and Credence’s pulse quickened.

“Perhaps I should say them more often, then. It’s my intention for you to believe them.”


End file.
